


even for this end are we come together

by song_of_staying



Category: Benjamin January Mysteries - Barbara Hambly
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-16 23:05:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9293588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/song_of_staying/pseuds/song_of_staying
Summary: They meet in Paris.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [within_a_dream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/within_a_dream/gifts).



> ♥ Thank you for the excellent prompts - I had so much fun writing this story! It's a set-up I've been thinking of for ages, and your prompts made it finally click :D. Happy Holly_Poly!

Aurélie and Léonie made an effort never to agree on anything, but in this they were united: they needed more books.

The girls were twelve now, well-behaved and polite – but still they were greeted with uneasy looks from M. Vlachos, who owned the pawn shop. He was a kind enough man, in his own way, and happy to do business with Benjamin himself. But the girls unnerved him, and Ayasha terrified him.

“M’sieu Janvier!” The man’s smile was twitchy. “Has Madame Janvier stayed at home today?”

“She is busy at work,” Benjamin smiled. Ayasha preferred to come to the pawn shop alone – she had less patience than Benjamin or Léonie did for Aurélie’s shopping habits.

“You are a musically-minded man, M’sieu,” said M. Vlachos. “Might I interest you in a violin?” He darted a glance at the girls, then away. “Perhaps it might find use in your household.”

Benjamin shook his head. He had been having an exceptionally good season, both at the Opera and in private tutoring, but he was not here for such an indulgence.

“Papa,” Léonie called, with exaggerated sweetness, “oh, Papa! Do come and look please.” She had been practising the mannerisms of an ingénue. For what purpose, Benjamin could not imagine: she was still determined never to marry.

He walked over, dutifully checking the medical texts she had chosen. He helped her distinguish charlatanry from truth, and she was left with two books she was most satisfied with. He left her with her new purchases, and went to look for Aurélie.

To Benjamin’s surprise, his other daughter was deep in conversation with a handsome, unknown woman. Since Aurélie was generally a recluse who preferred to avoid adults altogether, he didn’t want to disturb them. But Aurélie spotted him, and waved.

“Papa! Mademoiselle Vitrac is from New Orleans.” She was speaking a little too loudly, overcome with uncharacteristic excitement. “And she has helped me find a book of geography that explains the movements of the ocean _properly_. It was written by a man who had been a captain himself! A sailor, almost!”

Hugging her book to her chest, she dashed over to show it to her sister.

Mademoiselle Vitrac smiled after Aurélie, and seemed unperturbed by this introduction.

Benjamin bowed and introduced himself properly. He did not apologise for his daughter.

“Are you the Janvier who plays at the Opera?” she asked. Her eyes were merry, though lined with marks of pain that weren’t quite hidden by her spectacles. “Every musician I have spoken to since my arrival has asked if I knew you. I think they imagine New Orleans to be much smaller than it is.” Her smile was as wry as it was sweet. “But I had not lived there long. Not even long enough to learn the most crucial genealogies.”

He felt himself smiling back. “All of the genealogies were crucial. My mother could probably tell us – and with nothing to aid her but her memory – when and where we ought to have heard of each other.”

Mademoiselle Vitrac nodded, but volunteered no suggestions. He wondered what circles she had moved in, and was pleased to discover that he cared less than he would have done in his youth.

As she browsed and commented on this book and that, he thought about asking for news of home, but there was little he could ask of a stranger.

“I must hurry to the apothecary,” Mademoiselle Vitrac said, with a longing glance at the shelves. Her hands were empty. She must have come here to pawn something. “M’sieu Klein keeps the most erratic times.” Her eyes grew colder. “And chooses erratic prices.”

Benjamin nodded, and watched her square her shoulders, lift her chin.

He reached into his satchel, found his card. “My door is always open to skilled geographers,” he said, and was happy to see her smile again. He could not ask if she was ill, but instead he added, as lightly as possible - “I don’t know if our mutual musician friends told you - I am, still, a surgeon! I cannot make a living from it – those who need such care often cannot afford it.”

It was clumsy, and even sounded boastful, but Mademoiselle Vitrac held his gaze, and nodded, sharply. Without looking back, she stepped outside, into the rain.

* * *

The love of Ayasha’s life was a kind, charitable man. He was also almost never at home when he was needed.

The woman sitting at Ayasha’s kitchen table was crying, in the silent way of one who'd been taught to hide her grief.

“How badly injured is your friend?” Ayasha asked. “Should I send a boy to the Opera to give Benjamin your address? My husband should not be longer than an hour.” Unless he was directed to stay longer. It was impossible to avoid such things.

The woman breathed, steadied herself, hardened herself. “His wounds are infected and his hip is still sprained. He hasn’t been able to eat since the beating. I will go to wait for M. Janvier myself, if you permit it.”

She didn't need Ayasha’s permission. But she did need her company.

“We are coming with you,” she said, “at least as far as the Opera.”

Léonie would know which of Benjamin’s supplies to pack. He might not permit her to come see this dying violinist - though he had taken her as a sort of apprentice, he still worried. Léonie had been present at a birth once, but never at a death. Ayasha thought she was ready, but if Benjamin forbade it, Ayasha would agree with him.

Mademoiselle Vitrac did not object, nor did she pile up words of gratitude. She looked like she hadn’t slept for a long time. She was beautiful nonetheless, in a strange, steady way, like a moonlit lake. Hadji curled up around her shin, and she scratched behind his ear, spoke nonsense words to him. Latin, Ayasha thought, and smiled a little. Of course Benjamin liked her.

Léonie had packed quickly, and was restraining her excitement. Aurélie had agreed to cook – Ayasha knew she would do so with a book in her hand, but the result would be edible. Aurélie's experiments were no longer as simple as a ruined meal.

Ayasha's house was in order. She took Mademoiselle Vitrac by the elbow, and led her out.

* * *

There was a figure coming toward Hannibal, his movements all soft grace, his voice calm and warm, speaking simple words Hannibal was too tired understand.

Hannibal was dying, and this tall apparition had been called to witness it.

"He is delirious," Rose said, and surely she was correct. She always was. "And I believe he is still suffering from withdrawal - it had weakened him to begin with. Perhaps, if I'd brought him laudanum instead of those concoctions - "

"He would be just as lost," said the figure, "but he isn't lost to us completely." This kindness toward Rose was enough to make Hannibal speak up. But his mouth was dry, and he lost the words before they emerged.

He woke to cool hands around his wrists, pinning him to the bed. His hip was being set, or removed. It was a pain he had earned most directly, and he wanted to tell them there was no need to hold him so firmly.

He woke to a cool kiss on his brow. His Athéné was blessing him, a benediction he did not deserve. He would take that gift with him and keep it safe from Charon's greedy fingers.

He woke to cool fabric on his lips. He sipped and sipped again, and opened dry eyes to ask for more water. He had been thirsty for so long now.

 _I’m dying of thirst beside the fountain_ , he thought, and caught the eye of the man - the surgeon who had helped him. He saw worry there, and no disgust at all. All the shame and all the fear fell to the side for a moment. Hannibal wanted to speak to him.

"M'sieu Sefton," the surgeon said, and lifted the bowl to his lips once more. "We are so very happy you are back with us."

* * *

While she’d been tending to him, she had moved her cot over to Hannibal’s side of the attic. She left it there now. They lay on their sides, like patricians, and chewed on sunflower seeds, like children. They were both too tired to cook, but Hannibal had made coffee.

“They don’t want a governess,” Rose said. “They want a tutor.” Then she specified, “they want me.”

Hannibal nodded. “And if you refused?”

“Then nothing. They said we owe them no debts for your care.”

A debt had been the reason Hannibal had been hurt. Rose had sworn they would never take another loan, but it was an oath she knew she would not keep if he was hurt again. He had already proved he would do the same – and worse – for her.

“We can go to Marseilles,” Hannibal said. “There is a lady there who wants to kill me – perhaps her enemies would house us.” He was still fragile, and tired easily, but the offer was genuine. They could leave tomorrow.

“Being a tutor is almost as good as keeping a school,” she said. “It is almost exactly what I want.”

Hannibal waited for her to complete the thought, but she didn’t know what to say.

“Are the girls spoiled monsters?” he asked finally.

“No, they are charming. You’ve met Léonie once.”

“Yes, she seemed to be the most angelic creature – and fascinated by the splash of blood and crunch of bone.”

Rose nodded with a smile. “She told me she hopes to dissect a rat; she will catch it herself, too.”

“And the other?”

“Aurélie would dissect the storm-cloud if she could. She wishes to travel, by air and by sea. She will read anything, from the driest Latin to the most fanciful novel. Yet, she does not like people.”

“She likes you?”

Rose nodded. There was the problem: she was liked there. She could imagine it – sharing the joy of learning with two girls who had been allowed to want such a thing. She would be happy with them, and they with her.

“And the Janviers?”

“Well,” said Rose, and looked up, studying the dark boards above them, as though they would hold a hidden message. “You know them.”

He said, “Yes.”

Then he said, “No.”

Then, he said, “The Scripture never warned us that the Good Samaritan would be so beautiful.”

She laughed, feeling a tension leave her. At least she was not alone in her madness. “Which of them are you thinking of?”

“Him.” Hannibal considered it. “Though, I had only seen very little of the lady. Mostly while she was holding me down. Is she as beautiful?”

“She is. They are matched in every way.” She sighed. “And when they are at home, speaking of their children, the affection between them is impossible to ignore.”

“And if you were to work in their house -”

“I don’t know.”

But, of course, she did know. It was ridiculous to even think about it. In any other house, she would hope never to be noticed by her employers at all.

“I need to mend my gloves,” she said, and sat up. Obediently, he lit a candle – they were running out – and took a glove as well.

“It might yet turn out well,” he said. “You, if anyone, deserve to find a happiness, a _Heaven where harps and lutes adore_.”

“Yet, I tend to stumble into Hell - ”

“- _an Hell whose damned folk seethe full sore_ , yes.” He shook his head. “It will not always be so.”

It was an uncharacteristic hopefulness, even if it was for her sake rather than his own. She wondered if this was what happened when her friend fell in love – this willingness to trust in Fortuna, though he often called her faithless. Or perhaps being so sick had made him into a hopeful man.

“At least I will be earning well,” she said, “I will buy you dinner made by someone who actually enjoys cooking.”

Hannibal swooned with exaggerated gratitude.

Then he returned to sewing. He whistled something – she did not recognize the tune, but it reminded her of home.

* * *

“I’m not sure we should invite them again, _zahar_.”

Benjamin was aware that he sounded uneasy. But that was all well – Ayasha was owed his sincerity.

“And why should we not? They are still living in that cold rat-hole, _Mâlik_! They would both enjoy a warm meal and good company.”

And from there, it would be easy to ask them to stay – only for the night, only because it was raining again. Benjamin could imagine the whole thing very clearly.

“Mademoiselle Vitrac might not accept,” he said.

“Then let Mademoiselle Vitrac decide,” she shrugged. “She is a careful woman – we all must be – but she enjoys our company as much as we do hers. And I know you are wish to hear more of Hannibal’s gossip.” She said that as though she did not herself love the stories Hannibal would tell, each more salacious than the last.

“I worry,” Benjamin said at last, “that she wishes for a warmer friendship than we can offer.” Then, because it sounded sordid, and was not the entire truth, he added, “That Hannibal does, too.”

But Ayasha shrugged again. “Why can’t we offer it?”

Of course she knew the secret wishes of his heart.

“Because Mademoiselle Vitrac is in our employ,” he said. “Because Hannibal is a man.”

“And they both know their own minds. We must pay attention – and guard the secret, even from the girls – but we would not hurt them, _Mâlik_. And they would not let us.”

“Because I am not such a man – to forsake my vows to you for the sake of desire.”

“And I am not a wife from your home city,” she said, and her dark eyes blazed like lightning over pitch-black dunes. “I will not stay at home with a prayer-book while you are out with another.”

“No,” he said, and smiled. “The dress you are making, is it for her?”

“Yes,” she said, and lifted her chin.

Benjamin nodded, and thought of the pawn-shop violin.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to bigsunglasses and egelantier for the beta and support!
> 
> The title, and Hannibal's quotations, are from various Francois Villon poems.


End file.
